


"I dreamt about you last night."

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: 100 ways (to say I love you) [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: And I have to ask...why?





	"I dreamt about you last night."

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.

At first he can’t pinpoint what coaxes him from sleep, everything exactly as it was when he settled down for the night.  There’s nothing touching him – not the warmth of a hand gently shaking him awake, not the cold kiss of an assassin’s blade on his neck, not the bone-breaking violence of a daemon attack.  There’s no unfamiliar sound tugging at his attention, just the usual creaks of an old house settling in the night, the soothing _hush_ of waves ebbing and flowing in the distance, the ever-present hum of generators to power the lights and keep them safe from the horrors of the night.  And there, the most treasured sound of all, another set of lungs inhaling the same air he does, the rustle of fabric as Noctis shifts beside him.

Ah – that’s what’s disturbed his rest.  The change in Noct’s pattern – the hitching breath hinting at troubled dreams or muffled sobs he tries to keep locked up in his chest even as they shake him to his core.

“Noct?” he ventures, a whisper in case he still sleeps, but no, Noctis stops breathing entirely for a moment and Ignis can almost picture it in his mind’s eye, the tension pulling tight from head to toe as he realises he’s woken Ignis, too, the way teeth will butcher his lip unless Ignis distracts him from it, the guilty dart of eyes to every corner of the room and the ceiling and floor and the loose threads he plucks from his pillowcase, avoiding his gaze and the inevitable discussion until Ignis clears his throat and gets the ball rolling.

But he doesn’t this time, rolls onto his side instead and frees an arm from the tangle of blankets between them so he can cautiously map his way up to Noct’s face, touch just his fingertips to a cheek so _cold_ it shocks him and he jerks back, mouth dropping open on a silent question that trips and dies on his tongue.  Cold fingers, too, settling around his own and pulling his hand back to its destination so he can lay his palm there instead, ever so carefully, _slowly_ , sweeping his thumb back and forth beneath an eye, wondering if it’s open and watching him, wondering if it’s closed to hide tears from him, wondering how many seconds he has until the skin beneath his pinches as Noctis struggles to pull his mask into place and hide behind it, pretend he’s fine when Ignis knows otherwise.  Breath on his wrist, a warm gust of it, shuddering and heart-breaking and something is _wrong_ , he knows it, doesn’t need his sight to _feel_ it.

“You’re cold,” he says instead, waiting for the collapse of the wall between them, the softening of Noct’s guard, dares to wriggle closer if only to share some body heat under the covers.

“’s a cold night.”

“Well you _did_ leave the window –”

“I dreamt about you last night,” Noctis says, and he stalls again, caught off guard, can’t help his blink of surprise even though it’s useless (amazing how expressive his eyes used to be, now dark and empty windows), “and the night before that, and the night before that one, too.  I hear you screaming, in anger, in pain.  I see you fighting something, a daemon maybe, or some _one_.  I can taste ash on my tongue and smell burning flesh in the air.”

“Noctis –”

 _“And then tonight?_   Tonight, I see _my ancestors_ set you on fire, Ignis.  I felt you _burn.  Why?_   Why did you put on the ring?” His voice tremors, cracks, and there’s the sob he’s been holding back and Ignis makes his move before Noctis can curl in on himself and block him out, tucks in close and curls an arm over his shoulder, leg over hip, touches forehead to forehead as he breathes in the pain, the grief, the despair, and holds Noctis through it as he breaks apart in his arms.   _“Why, Ignis?”_

“Because I couldn’t watch you die,” so complicated, so simple, not even a _choice_ so much as a reaction, as easy as breathing and speaking, as quick as his heart beating.

_And the price is seeing your life._


End file.
